Mon Ange
by Jag-Fel
Summary: After the werewolf attack, Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour grow close... closer than either thought possible. BillFleur romance.
1. Chapter 1

Mon Ange My Angel 

_A Bill and Fleur PWP romance_

After Bill's scarring at Hogwarts, the Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour grow close… closer than either thought possible. Running with the assumption of Fleur being around 20 and Bill around 27.

Written by Jag-Fel

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After many hours in their current positions, Fleur Delacour decided that what worried her most was how quiet and still Bill had been since the werewolf attack a few days earlier. Madame Pomfrey had assured her that Bill's condition was stable and nothing out of the ordinary, but Fleur worried still. Even after spending hours reflecting, trying to discern the source of her concern and trying to search her feelings for why she'd spent the last forty seven hours at Bill's bedside.

Sure, before the attack they'd been close. But this was absurd. Deep inside, a quiet voice within Fleur was reminding the girl that there had always been more too Bill than a casual platonic regard. No, despite what Fleur could wish or want, the Veela had fallen hard and fast for one Bill Weasley.

Which made it all the worse that he laid before her in his comatose state. The claw marks covered his chest and face, barely hidden beneath the blood-stained linen bandages and enchanted salves.

There were alone in Hogwart's hospital wing. For the time being, the room was hauntingly tired, illuminated by only the setting sun. This would make for Fleur's third night spent at Bill's bedside. Three nights during which he had not moved or reacted to her presence in any way.

From her padded seat beside his bed, Fleur looked down at Bill's still form. His face had taken the worst of the injury. The marks were still red and angry, glaring up at there from his once-perfect skin. So bright were the unhealed scars that they very nearly outshone his flaming red hair. Absently, Fleur lightly traced the facial scars with her slender finger, training down from his hairline, across his brow, past his temple, over his cheek, to his lips, and finally down below his chin.

There was a twinkle in her steel blue eyes as she surveyed and hand-inspected the severity of Grayback's onslaught. Her heart was breaking for Bill. Unshed tears threatened to fall her from eyes. Preparing to settle in for another night with Bill, Fleur slid her lithe form onto the narrow space between him and the edge of the bed. She pressed her face into the corner of his neck and shoulder, inhaling deep his spicy scent of shampoo and cologne. Even though he'd never know it, Fleur pressed a kiss against his cheek. She held the kiss for a long moment, wishing it was his lips and that he'd return the tender touch of affection.

Her thoughts began to wander there, in the hospital wing of Hogwart's, intertwined with her boyfriend. She thought back to her Beauxbatons' Academy days and how simple they had been. To her childhood with Gabrielle and her parents. To the picturesque French countryside.

"_Ah mon cher,_" Oh my dear, Fleur sighed quietly, still pressed tightly to Bill's side. "_Je souhaite que vous ayez été ici, avec moi, près de moi._" I wish you were here, with me, close to me.

She trailed a hand across his bare chest, minding his injuries, and brushed it against his other cheek, turning his head toward her. Closing her pale blue eyes, she pressed her rouged lips against his pale lips, kissing him deep and sure, as if challenging him to awaken and return the passionate encounter. When he did not, Fleur lost control of her unshed tears.

And for the first time since childhood, Fleur Delacour wept. The tiny crystal tears dropped against Bill's cheek, leaving miniscule trails of despair down his worn skin. She looked down in alarm, before burying her face in the pillow and letting the wracking sobs take over. The Veela in her scolded her for such childish displays of emotion, but the girl in her couldn't control it anymore.

As the sun finally set and gave way to the cold blue moon, Fleur cried herself to sleep beside Bill's still form.

Move. Move. _Move._ _Move, dammit._ Do _something._ It took every fiber in him to will even the slightest movement. _There_, he thought at last. _Open an eye. Take a look around you._

Finally Bill Weasley blinked an eye open gradually, attempting to survey his surroundings. It was dark, that much was for sure, but with an ethereal glow and seemed to concentrate around him.

_So I'm dead then_, Bill considered. _That's a damper. Ah bollocks._

A shimmer of silver in the corner of his eye alerted his attention. Bill willed his other eye open and turned his head. There was a body snuggled tight against his own with a head lying still, sharing his pillow. The shimmer of silver were the tears still in her eyes.

_Touch her_, he commanded his aching body. _Dammit, I don't care how much it hurts, you _will_ touch that girl._

With great pain and effort, Bill caressed her cheek with his hand, fingers plying the tears away and smearing their delicate trails on her pale cheeks. She stirred only slightly, and a pang of guilt echoed through Bill. He hadn't wanted to wake her, but part of her wanted nothing more than some of her attention.

Her eyes shimmered open, long lashes revealing pale blue eyes.

For the first time in three days, their eyes met. Sapphire to Emerald, they were connected and just stared at each other for a long while. He continued to caress her cheek, unable and unwilling to halt the ministration. Her sparkling eyes bored into him with half disbelief and half longing, such longing that she hadn't known possible.

"_Mon_ _Bill_," she murmured quietly, pushing closer.

"Fleur," he mumbled through split lips, his voice little more than a rasp.

She pressed a finger to his lips. "_Ne parlez pas, mon Bill. Nous pouvons parler plus tard. Pour maintenant, repos._" Do not speak, my Bill. We can talk later. For now, rest.

He continued looking at her, as if in disbelief that she was present. The ache in his body urged rest and the effort of raising a hand to caress her cheek had taken its toll on an already damaged body. His body demanded rest, but Bill's heart fought for more time here, with Fleur, as if he'd never get the chance again.

Come Hell or High Water, Bill Weasley would not go back under without letting Fleur know. He spent every last ounce of energy to wrap his hand behind her head, and pull her down to him and capture her lips with his. It wasn't the first kiss they'd shared, but it was the most important.

He kissed her with all the passion of a dying man and she returned it with all the desperation of a fleeting moment.

"Bill," Fleur murmured as they broke apart. "_Je t'aime._ I love you."

Bill Weasley didn't cry. He was a powerful wizard and had been a curse breaker in Egypt for years. But he couldn't control the single tear that traced down his broken cheek. "I love you too," he breathed back, unable to properly return the sentiment though broken lips and dry mouth.

"Now you will rest, _mon cher_," she replied, briefly pressing her lips to his again.

If he could have nodded, Bill would have. His eyes must have conveyed compliance, because Fleur rested her head back down beside his, her arms still wrapped protectively around him. Her platinum blonde hair forming a halo on his pillow, like some sort of angel. She was dressed in white, he observed now. Maybe being dead still wasn't out of the question.

Here he was, after all, in the arms of an angel. _My Angel,_ he thought. _No, _he corrected, _Mon Ange_, turning to Fleur's native French.

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I might continue this into Bill's recovery, and maybe even toward the wedding time permitting. That depends on reviews. Please R&R, even if it's anonymously. Feel free to mention any errors in the continuity. I don't have my copy of HBP with me. 


	2. Chapter 2

Mon Ange My Angel 

_A Bill and Fleur romance_

After Bill's scarring at Hogwarts, the Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour grow close… closer than either thought possible. Things start to go AU from now on.

Written by Jag-Fel

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Chapter 2. 

Bill Weasley had never felt more alive in his whole life. That might have had something to do with the lacerations, cuts, and scars that marred his face and body, but there was something to be said for near-death experiences making a man feel his own mortality.

He had been standing in nothing but a pair of slim-fitting black boxers before a mirror, in privacy for a long time, so long that he'd since lost track of time, quietly minding his own in the hospital wing of Hogwart's. It was rather quiet, Bill considered, even though he hadn't been conscious long enough to be exposed to sounds outside of the dull hum of the hospital that relied on magic rather than technology.

Pale eyes surveyed his even paler skin. His cheeks were sunken and dark circles highlighted his eyes. The energetic sheen that usually accented his hair was replaced with a dull flat color that belied his fatigue. Tentatively Bill fingered scar tissue on his chest, tracing the claw marks with a single finger. The thing with werewolf scars was that they never quite healed; meaning Bill's flesh was doomed to forever be marred by the near-fresh wounds he'd sustained over a week earlier.

Lost in his own inspection, Bill hadn't noticed a newcomer's arrival in his private suite, her platinum blonde hair cascading down from diamond-shard features accentuated by star-dropped crystal blue eyes. After hours of staring at his own destroyed features, seeing the Veela beauty of Fleur Delacour was bittersweet and melancholy. The first feeling he felt was the deep warmth of love, flowing from deep in his heart, the way a cup of hot cocoa warms you from the tips of your fingers to the tips of your toes. The second feeling was less wholesome and threatened to consume the former curse breaker.

It wasn't quite jealousy or quite shame, but what Bill felt instantly told him that Fleur had suddenly become more unattainable than he'd ever feared. Even when he'd first met her at the Triwizard Tournament, she'd been far away but still as down to earth as a schoolgirl. As a co-worker they'd been good friends, bringer her closer at the same time. But now, with the glaring scars that assaulted his visage, Bill could only hang his head and try to block the tears from his eyes.

"Bill?" her voice was silky and smooth, an accented purr that was music to his ears. If a perfect symphony could be conducted using the clear and hollow sound of a flute, the deep melodic tones of a piano, and the solemn, intimate strings of a violin, the depth of Bill's appreciation for the harmonic tones of Fleur's voice would still surpass the haunting beauty of that masterpiece.

"Fleur," he grunted in reply, pulling his arms tightly around himself in an effort to hide the scars, but wincing with the pain the effort caused.

Fleur stepped closer so that she was tightly pressed against Bill's back. The thin, silky material of her casual tunic and trousers were a welcome sensation along his shoulders and backside. He shivered as her arms slowly embraced him from behind, the soft pulse of her breath warming him completely. For a brief moment Bill forgot about his injuries, forgot about the war, and forgot that he was standing nearly naked behind a privacy screen in St. Mungo's Hospital.

Her soft, delicate fingers traced up his torso, tracing muscles and scars from Bill's waist, outlining his defined pectorals, before wrapping underneath his arms and embracing him tightly. Fleur pressed her rosy lips against an undamaged spot on his strong shoulder, imbuing all of her love into the tender kiss. "I am glad that you are alright," she whispered against his shoulder, not breaking their embrace.

"Alright?" Bill heaved a sigh. "I'm not alright, Fleur."

"But you are here," she intoned. "With me."

Unshed tears, restrained by his deepest reserves of willpower, remained behind Bill's closed eyes. She seemed so innocent, so... he did not know, but it couldn't be right for the most beautiful woman he had ever seen to still be there with his damaged self.

Bill turned around in her arms, looking down at Fleur. "I would have thought you'd leave me."

There was a sparkle in her eyes. "_Oh non, non, non_," in her native French. "If you think these scars," she ran a finger along a particularly wicked scarification on his jaw, "make you any less of a man to me, you are sorely mistaken, Bill Weasley."

He glanced down, at the space between their bodies. Fleur still held him tightly, barely a parchment's width apart. She broke the embrace to raise his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. There was the briefest breach of contact, as Fleur reached into her pocket for something Bill could not see. Her clenched fist contained an unknown item, but what caught his attention was the sparkle on her finger. Bill raised his hands and caught her hand in his, inspecting the source of his attention.

Briefly Bill felt as if he were back in the Diagon Alley jewelry store a while back, purchasing the pristine engagement ring that Fleur wore still. The plated white gold band, the stylized sapphire diamond carved as the corolla of a lily flower, an iconic gesture that Bill felt suited Fleur perfectly.

To see her still wearing the ring... it seemed to silence many of the doubts he'd been carrying since awakening only a handful of hours earlier. Well, maybe silencing the doubts he'd had concerning Fleur's feelings for him, but certainly not the self-doubts he still carried concerning his own confidence and features.

"You're still wearing my ring," Bill commented, releasing her hand at last.

Fleur nodded, as if it were no significant thing. "_Oui_, of course, _mon_ Bill."

She opened her hand, finally ending his curiosity. In her small palm was the dragontooth earring that had become as much a part of him as his long, often unruly mane of red hair. With delicate fingers, she returned the piercing to his earlobe and, standing on her tiptoes to reach, placed a delicate kiss where metal met skin.

"You are thinking I will leave you because you are not beautiful anymore," Fleur said, her voice quiet but succinct. "This is not the case, _mon amour_. I am here to stay, whether you like it or not." Bill chuckled at her tenacity and determination. "Besides," she added, "I am beautiful enough for both of us, I 'tink."

Bill smiled for the first time since waking up. "I love you, Fleur."

"And I love you, Bill Weasley, you silly man," she held him at arm's length. "Now, shall we get you into someting a _leetle_ more comfortable than your box-zairs?"

Like his loving guardian and bodyguard, Fleur helped Bill adjust to learning how to walk again, changing bandages, applying salves, and being useful in every way she could. Molly and Arthur, having stopped by on many occasions, remarked to themselves that Fleur had assigned herself as Bill's personal nurse, overseeing every aspect of her fiancé's recovery.

After about of week of physiotherapy, magic-assisted of course, Bill could walk on his own, even if it was little more than an unglamorous shuffle. He and Fleur would go on progressively longer walks out into the surrounding courtyards. Some afternoons Fleur would pack a picnic lunch, treating her Bill to something different from hospital food.

They were sitting down beneath a willow tree, Bill lying on his back to ease his muscles, staring at the sky. Fleur had made a pillow out of his taut stomach, careful to avoid any of his more tender locales.

"Bill?" she asked, bringing him back from his reverie.

"Yes, Fleur?" he replied, voice quiet and thoughtful.

"I am still going to marry you, _mon amour_," she announced, as if she had been trying to read his mind. She crawled alongside his body, resting on top of him. Their lips met in a soft kiss, a sharing of the emotions that could not be killed by Grayback's assault.

"You will?" Bill asked, his confidence not having returned to him quite yet.

She nodded, pressing a kiss against his chin. "Of course," she then giggled. "I 'ave my wedding dress an' everyting!"

Bill snaked his arms around his Fleur, pulling her down for another kiss and holding her in his embrace. Recovery from his injuries was a slow road, but Bill imagined that he had come further with Fleur's help than he ever could have alone.

Looking up at her from his prone position, with the afternoon sun silhouetting her platinum blonde hair, Fleur really was his angel, he decided, halo and all.

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I received a new review the other day, it jump started me to come and finally update this. Thanks to you all, loyal reviewers. 


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